


tour de force

by carnivorousBelvedere



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alleycat Race, Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Jake Being a Smug Asshole, Live Jam, M/M, Predator/Prey, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivorousBelvedere/pseuds/carnivorousBelvedere
Summary: One thousand dollars.That’s what Dirk’s tail is worth today.One thousand fucking dollars.Bro runs an illegal buy-in bike race during which participants try to catch Dirk in the city.Nobody's caught him yet.





	tour de force

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeachBriseadh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachBriseadh/gifts).



> This was directly inspired by [this scene from Tomb raider.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5_15D7XCNc)
> 
> PAYA YOU'RE A PEACH and also it's your fault I'm on a dirkjake kick

One thousand dollars. 

That’s what Dirk’s tail is worth today. 

One thousand fucking dollars. 

Dirk steps off the bus stop and starts off toward the far edge of the docks where the race will start in less than an hour. There’s no need for him to bring the bike, Bro already has it oiled up and ready to go for him there. Couldn’t risk Dirk not being prepared, obviously. 

Why Bro feels the need to keep organizing these fast cash grabs Dirk don’t know. But he knows one thing: when Bro says jump, you jump and parkour off the closest three buildings into next Sunday. 

So when Bro bought him the goddamn bike a few months ago, he just didn’t question it. 

Turns out being born with genetically aberrant fast twitch muscle fibers makes you all-around ridiculously athletic, and Bro sure intended to capitalize on it one way or another. 

Here’s how the race works: a bunch of assholes throw down a Jackson for the pleasure of chasing Dirk around like a bunch of suckers, and if they catch him, they get the pot. 

It’s the lean blonde fox and his fifty or so grungy, chain smoking, functionally alcoholic pursuing hounds. The lot of them look like they let a second hand store dress them during a hurricane, and it might actually be a little accurate. However, it’s pretty par for the course with this bunch of embittered bike messengers and odd hobbyists in between. 

The metaphor is, however, the name of the game; Dirk has a real fuzzy tail attached to his bike, and an orange bandana wrapped around his bicep that signals his identity as the prey. All handkerchief code jokes aside, Dirk still feels like it’s a poor choice of signaling participation. 

He keeps his head down and his shades on, orange marker firmly stuffed in his pocket. No need to have anyone giving him a hard time this early in the day. 

The salted mist from waterside breaks through the crisp morning air as he inhales. It’s tinged with the scent of stale algae and acrid smoke that makes his eyes sting a little, though that’s probably because he didn’t actually sleep the night before. The coffee can’t kick in soon enough. 

He cracks his neck as he reaches the true ocean edge and starts to walk down the wood pier, noting a few people milling about for various reasons, and possibly one of them among his future pursues, though he chose to come from this side to avoid any of them. He gets a few moments of morning peace before someone acknowledges him. 

“Now what’s a looker like you doing out here this side of of the slums?” 

The voice draws Dirk away from his pondering stroll at the water’s edge. He frowns, turns to the voice, and is greeted by a rather nice face, freakishly piercing green eyes, glasses, and a cocked grin. The guy is wearing a nondescript grey windbreaker over long khakis and he appears to walking a bike with a helmet hung over a handlebar. 

And did he just call Dirk a ‘looker’? 

Dirk’s face contorts to pursed lips and back to his relaxed face in a second. “Just takin’ a walk,” he lies. He has to wonder the same about the stranger; there’s no way this clean-cut stranger is a participant in the chase, he looks far too… normal. He lacks the ragtag, disheveled appearance of the usual lot. However, no one else would be out here if they were just enjoying a regular ride, there’s much more pleasant areas of the city for that. 

“Yes, well, of course, but therein lies the rub— a handsome man like you doesn’t belong out here in this shantytown,” he continues to grin near wolfishly. 

And there it is again. _Handsome_. This guy is definitely flirting with him. Dirk wants to look down and make sure the bandana isn’t actually sticking out of his pocket, but he knows it isn’t and refrains from checking. 

Two can play at this game. “Were you going to suggest I get out of here by riding on your handlebars or something?”

The stranger releases a quick laugh before swallowing it. “Not exactly. Would keeping you company for a moment be an acceptable replacement?”

Dirk _should_ tell the guy to lose it. It’s too early in the morning and he doesn’t feel like dealing with people yet. But the guy is cute. And rather direct. 

The man’s expectant face makes it a losing battle nonetheless. Dirk holds out a hand and gestures out to the dock area that winds to the meeting point. 

The stranger nods and falls into step with Dirk, walking the bike with one hand. 

Dirk blearily can’t find anything to say but thankfully the biker takes the conversational lead. “It’s a good morning for a ride, not much of a breeze flowing in.”

He’s right, and it reminds Dirk of the stagnant greenery lining the water’s edge as he breathes in. “I don’t think that’s exactly a convincing reason to bike around here.”

“I like a little variety,” the man shrugs. 

“Isn’t biking in itself a bit boring?”

The stranger sighs. “It isn’t if you know what to look for! Or you go with a group, but I myself am a bit of a lone wolf, I suppose.” He tacks on a wry smile. 

“Lone wolf or you just use it as an excuse to pick up strangers?”

“And look at that, the pretty one doesn’t mince words either! No friend I wasn’t expecting to run into your spectacular self at this hour I just got lucky, can we chalk it up to that?”

From anyone else the statement might be condescending, if not downright obnoxious, but damn if the guy doesn’t make it work. There is no doubt in Dirk’s mind what’s going on now. He glances ahead to the turnoff where the bikers should be congregating and wonders how he’s going to shrug off this new friend, seeing as now is not the time for this banter. Dirk also kind of doesn’t want to. 

“Hey man I wasn’t judging if you were,” Dirk offers. “Was just saying you could probably use better tactics.”

“And what would you suggest I do for the attention of a fetching individual as yourself?”

Dirk can see the guy grinning at him out of the corner of his eye. “You could maybe stand to be a bit more straightforward.” _That’s a bold move Cotton, let’s see how it plays out._

That seems to get his attention. 

Before the stranger can respond Dirk’s phone rings and he sighs, knowing it’s Bro calling to ask where he is. 

He ignores the call but takes the message. Time to hustle. “Listen man I appreciate the nice morning conversation but I got somewhere to be.”

Something like surprise passes over the biker’s face and leaves, replaced with self-satisfied acceptance. He purses his lips and nods. “Of course, I won’t take any more of your precious time.” 

Dirk nods. Precious time, sure. He sighs and picks up his feet to self consciously jog towards the meeting point, far enough down on the pier away from prying eyes. 

“Hate to see you leave, love watching you run away,” the man calls behind him.

Dirk snorts and picks up his pace, trying not to think about the startlingly direct conversation he just left behind him. 

—-

“You’re late,” Bro says as Dirk finally walks up to the secluded lot. He tosses Dirk a wad of keys. “Gonna count the cash, get the bike.” 

Dirk doesn’t bother with responding, he just does. He unloads his bike and helmet out of the car, fastening the fuzzy tail to the thin pole on the back and fussing with the orange bandana cuff out of spectator view. When he’s happy with how everything looks he heads back to the lot. 

He walks through the entryway, bike in hand, as the air is starting to fill with loitering bikers lighting up cigarettes, enjoying a festive smoke before saddling onto their rides. It’s a habit Dirk has noticed and not ceased to find ironic every time. 

He scans for newcomers, anyone that might actually offer him a challenge, and his eyes pass through the crowd before…. wait. His head whips over his shoulder behind him. Leaning on the wall right next to the gate he just passed through is his friend from this morning. 

Dirk freezes and breathes out a single exasperated breath, staring at the stranger who only half-smiles at him, nonchalantly resting on the wall. He struggles for a comment. 

“You’re not smoking?” is all Dirk can think to say. 

The biker smiles at him with no teeth. “No, but something tells me I’ll need all the breath I’ve got to grab you by the tail.”

Dirk nods sharply and presses his lips into a thin line, unable to find a response. The man speaks once more and salutes two fingers at him. 

“Good luck, little fox,” he says. 

Something about his gesture and the shock of seeing him finally shudders through Dirk, jolting him to face forward again. He forces one foot in front of the other and wills himself not to look back at the man again as he seeks out Bro. 

Of course that guy ended up being one of his participants, and something about that _excites_ Dirk in a way he hasn’t felt since he started doing this. Maybe it’s having actually talked to one of the participants for once. Maybe it’s because it seems he’ll actually present a challenge. But Dirk thinks it might be due to something baser, the flirtatious language exchanged only minutes ago still fresh on his mind. 

_Little fox_. He can practically feel the man’s eyes lingering on him as he heads into the growing crowd. 

Bro finds him again at the opposite corner of the lot. “One thousand, five hundred in total,” he says. Dirk nods. He doesn’t care about the money. He’s not really going to get much of it anyway, but he can feel Bro’s pride at having stumbled into such a productive con.

As long as Dirk can make good on his role, at least. The implication of his statement is clear: _Don’t get caught and fuck this up._

When his phones ticks to seven fifty five AM sharp, Bro makes the announcement. 

“Most of you fucks have done this before, but I’ll say it again for the newbs. If you can grab the tail off of this guy’s bike-” he gestures at Dirk next to him and Dirk frowns under the sudden mass of eyes on him “-by noon today, you win fair and square. The limits are the entire city, from the southern highway stretch here, all the way up to the north loop, and from Utopia Ave. all the way west to Temple. That’s thirty square miles. If you don’t catch him by twelve, the race is over and you’ve lost. You can feel free to head to Casey’s to drown your sorrows later.” He glances over the congregated crowd that has silenced long enough to listen to him. “Finish your preparations, the race begins in five minutes.” 

\---

When Dirk finally lines up at the exit of the lot, participants taunt and cheer at him. 

He wonders if the man from earlier is there among them. 

No, got to focus on the race. Handsome strangers can wait until later. 

Bro readies at the sideline with the airhorn, waiting for Dirk to signal he’s ready. Dirk glances back behind him at the mass of bikers lined up, all seventy-five or so that will disperse throughout the city in his pursuit over the next few hours. 

Dirk nods at Bro. He grips at the handlebars and leans forward, heartbeat going out of control. It’s the longest second of his life. 

The horn blows once and he lurches forward on his pedals, not daring to look back and waste even a second. 

He careens out of the lot and onto the main highway road, but doesn’t start off too fast. If he sprints now he’ll wear out and also tip off the participants he has a bit of a trick up his sleeve. 

He can hear them starting the countdown behind him as he pedals away from the docks and towards the city. 

The horn blows again, signaling the start of tracking for everyone else. 

He calculates in his mind how it’s going so far. From the docks there are only so many places he could go, but once he gets a little bit farther into the city he’s got loads of options: little streets that branch like capillaries, backyards to slip into, quads between buildings, parks with trees full of leaves. He rides below overpasses and keeps beside the walled side of the street to avoid attention. 

The only annoying thing is seeing regular bikers and not knowing if he needs to sprint away from them at first. The sight of a bike surges anxiety through him relentlessly. 

The first half hour he manages to avoid his pursuers, with only one close call. He heard a group of them before he saw them, and turned around before they got any closer. He stops a few blocks down in an alleyway behind a dumpster to catch his breath. 

Dirk hides under a bridge in the park to recover with some of the electrolyte gels he’d packed at hour two. He likes this park up north because oddly enough by this hour everyone is still trawling the south end of the city, and he actually can kick back for a little bit. 

And then he’s back on the bike. 

He decides to tool around in park, because even biking down streets next to cars hums anxiety through him. Here at least he doesn’t have that, though the threat of someone spotting him from afar still looms. However, the sharp tint of adrenaline has worn off on the edges of his brain space, allowing him some mental reprieve. 

This makes the surprise that slams through Dirk especially strong when he sees him. 

It’s the stranger from this morning, ahead on the walkway of the park, looking up at Dirk with a fiery expression. 

Dirk knows instantly he’s been recognized. 

Time freezes around them. It’s just him and the man staring at him with a raptorial look to his face. He looks like he not only wants to catch Dirk and take his tail, but also tear him apart limb by limb. It’s inexplicably arousing, but right in that very moment it has a different effect. 

The adrenaline floods out into his extremities like foam in a crashing wave. It strikes his heart like white lightning and sends the world around him into pristine clarity. 

_Run._

Life clicks back to regular speed as panic washes through him. 

He spins his bike around, wicked fast, and darts in the opposite direction from where he’d been going. 

The stranger dutifully gives chase. Dirk nimbly swerves around morning walkers and scans for a way out of the park, where he’s not so physically visible. 

He needs to flash-step his pedals but he can’t just yet, he’s still _tired_. He can’t make the motion happen when he’s not totally refueled. If he’d only sat around in hiding for another ten or so minutes, he would have been fine. 

Though the biker probably would have found him anyways. 

He needs to be careful when he flash-steps, he learned long ago that doing it when there’s no energy in his muscles that it actually starts to break down the fibers instead, and boy does that take the shit out of him for the whole week. 

Dirk reaches the end of the park and turns onto the sidewalk, working his way back into the city, pushing himself to the edge of his limits. He can hear, almost feel without looking, how close his pursuer is getting as he races down the edge of the park, cars buzzing past in the opposite direction. 

He’s gaining on him, second by second. A pedestrian signal turns to walk and Dirk jerks along it. He keeps going down the street, not even taking the energy to yell at people to get out of the way. If he can lose this guy in the crowd, there’s a quad between buildings full of greenery he should be able to slip into. 

He is obviously not so lucky. The biker is half a block behind him now and gaining. Dirk reaches the quad and steers into it, skirting dangerously close to the grassline and benches.

He chances a look behind him only to see the man reaching out over the handlebars of his bike, pedaling hard with grasping fingers almost wrapping around the tail as it whips in the air. 

His face is ravenous. His eyes are gleaming, he looks hungry and dangerously focused on the prize. 

The thought of letting the man catch him strikes Dirk. It’s a tempting cavernous hole he could fall into. 

It all happens within seconds. He whips his head forward and sees the park bench where the walkway curves. An opportunity. 

He flashes the bike to the left at the very last second, faster than most humans can possibly make their bodies move, and looks back to see the man run into the bench and fly into a flower bush, too focused on his reward to see it coming. 

Dirk laughs as he speeds away, looking back again to see the man standing up and dusting himself off, though he can longer see his expression.

Dirk makes sure to get far away from there after that. 

\---

No one catches Dirk by the end of the allotted time period. That leaves only one thing left for the day: the afterparty, held at a pub in the center of the city. 

It’s good face for Dirk and Bro to show up. Bro proves Dirk didn’t pull any bullshit with the cellular GPS tracking done through his phone, and Dirk gets to endure people congratulating him on his narrow escape. 

The bikers usually drink, heavily, and way too early in the day. Sometimes they buy Dirk drinks. Today is not one of of those days. He’s standing up at the edge bar almost hoping no one notices him and offers because that stretch of dialogue is painful on both ends, and it’s only ever because someone feels some twisted obligation. _We just scammed you out of your cash,_ Dirk wants to tell them instead. Otherwise most of them are surly, but those ones make a point to not interact with him. 

The bikers out there have their own sort of comradeship Dirk doesn’t belong to, nor wish to participate in. He can admit it’s a separate circle from his own. So he just watches. It appears that despite the high-intensity morning, the convening is rather good-natured. Everyone just likes an excuse to drink at the end of the day, apparently. 

Dirk faces the bar and leans into it with both elbows, distracting himself with reading the liquor display labels and pondering if he should buy himself something. His phone already died, so now he’s really stuck with this restless social suffering. 

Someone comes up behind him and waits. Dirk feels their expectant presence for a few moments. They don’t leave, so he sighs, leans back and looks over his shoulder. He is then surprised to see his one true pursuer for the day, looking at Dirk with a sort of sheepish yet smug half-smile. He looks different, much different from the furious, hungry determination Dirk saw on him when they raced that morning. 

Less ravenous for that victory, but there is still a hint of something Dirk can’t place. Something… 

“You put on a good chase, _fox_ ,” the stranger comments as Dirk notices him. His hands are in the front pockets of his jacket. 

Dirk turns to face him with half of his body. “It’s in the job description,” he shrugs. He tries not to look fazed as recalls the carnivorous look in the man’s eye as he reached out for the tail, so different from his smirking appearance now. 

The man flashes him a full toothy smile and shifts his stance, aligning himself more with Dirk. “Can I buy you a congratulatory drink, in any case?” He offers. 

Dirk cocks his head and stares at him. “I made you eat shit, dude.” He really hadn’t been expecting quite this reaction out of him, though he is absolutely not disappointed. 

“Yes, and so congratulations are in order, don’t you think?” 

Dirk purses his lips and nods toward the bar. The stranger steps forward and sticks his hand out. 

“Jake English,” he finally introduces. 

“Dirk,” Dirk hesitantly reaches out to meet his hand, and Jake grips his roughly. “Strider,” he tacks on as Jake gives a quick shake. 

The hand lingers after and Jake doesn’t drop his eyes, almost as if he’s also trying to get a read on Dirk, as much as Dirk is trying to get a read on him. 

Behind the lenses Dirk can still see that predatory gleam lurking there, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Is this guy mad? Begrudgingly accepting his loss, and the absolute wrecking he got from Dirk? 

Jake releases his hand and steps to the bar.

“What do you fancy?” 

“Whatever you’re having,” Dirk shoots back. 

The man exhales and smirks again. 

Dirk finds himself in a corner booth of the bar with a neat single malt scotch, sitting across from Jake, who has not ceased looking so smug the entire time. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t upset,” Dirk says and tips the drink in his hand to the side. 

Jake runs a finger around the rim of his own before taking a sip. “How could I be when I so rightfully deserved it?” Jake smiles at him like he _knows_ Dirk pulled a fast one. 

“You were the only one that got close,” Dirk concedes. 

Jake’s eyes flash up to Dirk’s face. “Really now?” 

“Don’t look too smug about it.”

Dirk watches as Jake almost preens. “You are a fast one, aren’t you?”

“Why do you think I’m the one who’s out there? Did you think it’d be easy?” 

Jake scoffs and shakes his head. “Of course not. Not in it for the money, anyhow.” 

Dirk is taken aback but he tries not to show it. Not in it for the money? “Why did you sign up?”

Jake grins then, absolutely dangerous. “I love the chase,” he admits with a shrug. His eyes lock on to Dirk’s. “And knowing it was you I was after made it all the better.” 

Dirk almost jumps. He hadn’t been expecting the line, even though he kind of knew it was coming. He swallows. “So you weren’t in it for the cash at all?”

The hazardous smile Jake flashes could slice diamonds. “Not even in the slightest.” Jake looks down into his drink as if debating something more. “Was worth it just to see you from behind again,” he finally says.

Dirk drains his drink. 

By the time he’s done Jake is standing. 

“Another round, fox?” He offers. 

“If you’re buying,” Dirk responds. 

When Jake returns with two more drinks, he doesn’t let up. 

“That was quite a move you made at the end there today,” Jake comments as he sets both drinks on the table. He slides back into the booth and looks expectantly at Dirk. “You know. When I almost caught you.” 

Dirk purses his lips and shrugs, averting his gaze. He really shouldn’t elaborate. 

“How exactly did you do that? It was as if you disappeared,” Jake asks when Dirk obviously doesn’t respond. 

“From my point of view you were a bit distracted right around then,” Dirk shoots back dryly. 

The side of Jake’s lip quirks up. “I admit I was.” Dirk is only half relieved when he changes the subject. 

“So is it what you do during the week that gives you such a fantastic ass, or is it all from the pedaling you do on the weekends?”

Dirk lets his head fall forwards onto the back of his hand holding his drink over the table. “Jesus Christ, dude, do you have any idea what you sound like? At all?”

“Well, I faintly recall someone this morning regaling the virtues of being more straightforward in conversation,” Jake replies, unfailingly self-satisfied. 

He sits back and watches as recollection passes Dirk’s face. Yeah, Dirk remembers. 

“Straightforward is ‘What do you do during the week,’” Dirk points out when the wave of embarrassment fades. 

Jake shrugs innocently. “But then I wouldn’t get to tell you how much of a charming backside you’ve got.”

Dirk is thankful for the dim lighting of the establishment, because there is absolutely heat on his face despite the ridiculous comment. “You first. What drives you to chase tail on the weekends?” Dirk knows it’s a blatant double entendre but he can’t help himself. 

Jake’s eyes flash over the edge of his drink, and Dirk swears that constant smirk grows more pleased. “A regular old nine to five. A man’s got to stretch his legs on the weekend, you know.”

Dirk nods and tries not to consider how similarly inflected his statement is to “sow his wild oats.” 

Jake tilts his head toward Dirk. “And you?”

“Programming,” Dirk replies firmly. 

“Ah, not as conducive to producing fine glutes as I thought. In any case, a toast to your victory,” he lifts his glass in Dirk’s direction.

Dirk notices that he doesn’t specify which victory, but he does follow the motion of lifting his glass with Jake’s.

When they drink Jake does not stop, looking out of the side of his eye at Dirk as he swallows. 

Goddamn it, he is definitely roped into this now and he can’t stop. He doesn’t break eye contact with Jake as it goes down. It burns worse than the first time, and even that was pretty bad. 

It offers him no clarity to his situation, and soon it’ll all be even fuzzier. 

Either way, Dirk knows what they are hurtling towards, and he’s not inclined to stop it. 

They take their last drink at the bar together, standing a slowly shortening foot apart. “Were you disappointed you never caught me,” Dirk murmurs, just loud enough to be heard over the bar din. 

“Who’s to say I still can’t,” Jake breathes.

Jake reaches out and places a hand on Dirk’s waist. Dirk drops his glass on the bar as he’s pulled closer to Jake. 

Dirk closes his eyes. He can feel Jake’s breath ghosting over his lips. It’s inevitable now.

The idea flashes through him, utterly absurd. 

He throws his hand up into the sliver of space between them and captures Jake’s chin. He can feel Jake’s questioning exhale as Dirk holds him firmly there. 

Dirk swallows thickly before speaking again. “If you’re such a fan of the chase, I don’t want to make this easy for you,” he whispers, keeping his eyes closed. Jake’s lips must be mere centimeters away. 

“Oh?” Jake says with an air of impatience. 

“I want to make a deal with you,” Dirk says. 

He opens his eyes to see Jake with his eyebrows drawn in, clearly befuddled for the moment. It’s worth it if only to see the satisfying break through his constantly pleased appearance.  
“A deal?” Jake quickly recollects himself and leans back, but leaves his hands firmly at Dirk’s side. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dirk responds, his throat tacky. He questions his sanity for a second, blames the drinks, and then barrels on with his ridiculous idea. “I want a rematch. In that park outside the city.” It’s a wilderness sanctuary, and from what Dirk knows it sprawls. He pauses, unsure of what to say next. 

“And what do I get if I catch you?” Jake questions, filling the blank for him. 

“We’ll decide…” Dirk says, and watches Jake hang on to every word, “If you can catch me.” 

Jake laughs, quick and breathy. “And your terms if I do not?” Dirk can read his clear intrigue in the bargain. 

“If you don’t, I get to pick a punishment.”

Oh. Oh, no. He just said that. Dirk absolutely had not been intending to use that word. It just slipped out. 

He hadn’t meant it, but it’s too late now. Jake stands up straighter when he hears it, really catching his attention now. 

“If I can catch you…” Jake muses then and squeezes his hands on Dirk’s sides. “ _When_ I catch you...” 

The implication of his challenge sinks in. He can’t go back on this one now. Dirk nods, and an adrenaline-laced shiver runs through him. 

He’s not expecting Jake’s face to split into a scarily excited grin as he drops his hands from his waist and steps away. 

“I accept your terms, Strider.”

\---

They set a date and time, a few days later, with start right before sunset in a far corner of the park.

Dirk waits at the edge of the forest line for Jake to arrive in the parking area they’d agreed on. He leans back on a signpost and looks up over the trees where the sun will be setting soon. It’s already gone over the mountain on the one side of the park, and it fills the sparse clouds with streaks of golden orange over the greenery. As much of an indoor recluse as he is, he can find it within to appreciate the scene. 

He does, however, end up looking at his phone until Jake finally arrives. He pulls up into one of the parking spaces near where Dirk is standing. 

“Last time to back out, English. Spare yourself the embarrassment,” Dirk calls over to him when he finally gets out of his car. It’s a little startling to finally see him again. 

Jake laughs as he starts to pull out his bike. “And risk this opportunity? Never.” He’s wearing similar clothes to what Dirk saw him in the other day-- khakis, though probably still not the best choice for biking. 

They walk together to the clearing right before the main branch of paths through the trees. Some appear more well-tread than the others. The area between the trees is covered with undergrowth and fallen leaves. 

As they walk, he feels this static tension between the two of them. He’d been waiting for this, and so had Jake. 

Why did he think this was a good idea? He just could have gotten…. Well, whatever that night at the bar had been turning into, but instead he got this. Chose this. 

Neither of them say anything, and the only sound around them is the call of forest birds and the distant roar of a river. 

Dirk realizes he’s holding his breath for some comment from Jake, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s unexpected. 

The tensity lingers. “Been thinking about what I’ll do when you lose,” Dirk says, unable to stand it any longer. 

“Oh, yes, my _punishment_ , hm?” Jake laughs, with that hint of patronization. The cocky asshole. “I admit I have been considering yours as well, fox.” He stops for a second to reach behind Dirk and grasp the tail attached there, letting it run through his fingers. 

Dirk sucks in a breath. This is out of control. 

They reach the branch point and Dirk stops to fully look at Jake. “Ten second start?”

“Oh, I’ll give you a full minute,” Jake smiles. 

Damn should it annoy him but instead Dirk feels a flare of excitement at the pure confidence he exudes. 

“Are you ready? Prey are usually just as nervous before they’re caught, don’t worry,” Jake teases when Dirk just looks at him.

“Born ready,” Dirk says and purposefully ignores his other statement. 

Jake just purses his lips. 

Dirk mounts his bike and looks back at Jake. “One minute?”

“One minute, I swear on it,” Jake says and taps his wrist watch. 

Dirk nods, looks forward, and takes off into the woods. 

 

Dirk launches himself forward, getting himself a decent distance from Jake before really kicking up the speed. He sticks to the main path at first, but as he goes deeper he notices that it was also going uphill a bit. 

He also realizes, with sinking displeasure, that this bike is not made for trails. It is solidly a streetside ride, and he feels it in every barely grounded root and rock he rolls over. He’s going to have to ditch the bike, eventually. Would going on foot here would be more quiet or stealthy than the bike? Does he have the calls of bird and encompassing buzz of bugs on his side, or will they fade away as night draws closer? 

For now, he’s prepared to take this ride wherever it needs to go. 

He pushes on further, and hears the sound of the river drawing closer. He wonders if the sounds he’s hearing are Jake catching up to him, or if his brain is just making it up in a fit of adrenaline. 

No, that’s definitely Jake. He heads towards the water. There’s got to be something there he can hide in, or worst case toss his bike into the water. He would probably think that absurd if his brain wasn’t clouded by accelerating panic. Why is he so damn _scared_ this time? This is supposed to be exciting. 

At least now he’s mostly rolling over dead leaves, legs brushing through undergrowth on all sides. No dirt trail to track, as far as he knows. Dirk won’t be surprised if he ends up with poison oak after this. His breath is starting to catch up to him-- more shallow, labored with exertion. 

The riverside is close, but it’s so dark. It’s a wonder he hasn’t full on hit a root and been tossed over. He slides to the rocky riverside and practically throws himself off his bike, tossing himself behind the stony ledge there. He presses himself flat under the ledge and holds the bike close to his chest, the wheels almost hitting the edge of the water. His entire left side is going to get muddy, but that was probably inevitable. 

And then he waits. Over the roar of the river, he can hear the spinning of bicycle wheels and chains behind him. It’s getting darker, he can really feel the fading light out in the patch of open sky above the river. 

The sounds stop. Jake is absolutely there. If he gets any closer, he can peer over that rocky ledge and see Dirk and the bike. 

He doesn’t, Dirk hears him survey the water side, and the sound of him putting his feet to the pedals again as he takes off in another direction. Dirk exhales, and then makes a conscious decision to leave the bike under the ledge. He peeks up over and sees no sign of Jake.

He’s got well over an hour still. Even with his close escape, the adrenaline is mixing with the aroused exhilaration like a drug kicking in. 

He picks the bike back up and heads in the opposite direction of where he heard Jake going, or at least where he thinks he heard Jake going. Fuck. 

He gets back on the bike and dives back into the woods. Eventually he slides down a narrow path that leads to a large indentation in the ground. It’s covered in leaves and pine needles. All around him, the call of the birds has faded, and now he can’t tell if he’s surrounded by silence or the soft droning of insects. Night is falling on him truly now. Moonlight is filling in the shadows sunset left. 

On a tree limb in the middle of the miniscule valley is a fox. Dirk is just as startled as it is when he notices it, so well blended in to the low branch. 

He pauses on his bike as it makes eye contact with him. They stare at each other for several long seconds.

The fox gives a nearly imperceptible jerk of its face up over Dirk’s head, and then turns and shoots up the branch, into the upper levels of the canopy. 

It happens so fast. Jake jumps over the ledge of the pit and dives in, crashing directly into Dirk on his bike and sending them both to the ground, Dirk’s one leg trapped under his and the painful body of Jake over him. 

Dirk gasps and scrambles out from under his bike, taking handfuls of dried leaves and dirt to clamor away Once he’s untangled from the bike he goes to attempt to yank his own bike back up from under Jake.  
Jake is making a similar move, removing himself from the smash of metal and tossing himself at Dirk with a grunt. 

Dirk goes down with Jake as the mass hits him and he falls back into the shifting leaves. He kicks at Jake, suddenly all frenzy. His foot connects with Jake’s leg and then stomach as he forces himself away along the ground. He’s able to claw up to his feet but Jake throws a hand around his ankle and yanks him back down onto the ground like it’s nothing. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, Dirk,” Jake growls and drags Dirk back to him.

Dirk should have known when Jake caught him he wouldn’t settle for just the tail.

Dirk pushes against him but finds himself pinned, with one shoulder forced into the ground by seizing fingers, and a hand crushingly pushing on his chest while Jake physically straddles him. While Dirk is indeed built for speed, Jake is much better balanced with strength. 

Jake grips him hard enough to bruise. “I want my _reward_.” 

He leans down and hungrily kisses Dirk, the hand moving from his shoulder to capture a large handful of Dirk’s hair. Jake’s lips press against Dirk’s in a frenzy, hungrily devouring him as their chests heave. 

Somehow Dirk knows that’s not all he wants in victory, his lips aren’t going to be good enough. 

Moonlight pours directly down onto them. Jake grinds his hips against Dirk’s, driving the indication of his arousal along his body. He pulls away from Dirk to look down on him as he does. They’re both sweaty, gasping messes.

“So what do you want then?” Dirk spits at him, still attempting to present some challenge. Jake looks so terribly ravenous, unmistakable hunger in his eyes. 

Jake just grins down at him. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Between his legs, Jake flips Dirk over with a harsh yank of his shoulder so that he’s chest and face into the ground. 

Jake reaches around, still keeping one hand planted on Dirk’s back to keep him down, and picks the button of his pants off. He wrenches Dirk’s clothes down to his thighs, revealing him completely. 

Dirk gasps and takes another futile handful of leaves in an attempt to get away. Jake just laughs and tightens his knees around Dirk’s hips, the hand on his back becoming a plunging elbow that takes the wind out of him. 

“Don’t make me trap you, little thing,” he snarls. Dirk goes still despite the nearly animalistic fear racing through him. 

He strains his head to look up at Jake, who seems to be fumbling with his own pants while still keeping pressure on Dirk’s body. “How exactly do you expect to claim that reward, asshole?” he says through gritted teeth. 

Jake laughs hollowly. Dirk then hears something, the distinct popping of a cap, and an answering wet noise. Humiliation burns through him in one seething rush. Jake had planned for this win. Bargained on it, even. 

“Fuck you,” Dirk says and tries to force himself up on elbows, backing up into Jake. 

“Oh _yes_ , do present that absolutely lovely ass for me,” Jake says. 

Dirk gasps as Jake, somehow shamelessly, takes a handful of his ass and leans back down onto his body. “I didn’t have to bring this, you know,” he murmurs and runs a wet finger down between his cheeks, searching for his hole. 

Dirk moans and collapses forward under his weight. 

Jake keeps one hand on Dirk’s back, pushing him down into the ground, while his other hand works at Dirk from behind. As if Dirk would struggle away now, though. He’s not sure what burns hotter- the vicious humiliation or the bizarre mix of terrified arousal his body is bathed in. He can feel the adrenaline still tightening his muscles, and they continue to slacken and tense again as the fight leaves him. “Relax, if you keep struggling like this you’ll just make it harder for yourself,” Jake directs. 

With Jake leaned up on him like this, he can feel the back of his erection pressed into right lower back. Dirk’s not surprised when his own dick reacts to the sensation of something pressing inside him. He leans his head forward into the ground and shuts his eyes. 

Jake is going to take his victory. 

Dirk takes a full on bite into his lip when Jake adds another finger. “So tight from all the excitement, I can’t wait for how you’ll feel,” he undertones. 

Dirk can’t make himself look behind at him, so terribly ashamed. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, Dirk,” Jake says then, an unnecessary preamble. 

And then with two hands weighed down on Dirk’s body underneath his shoulder blades, Jake plunges into the tight circle of flesh there. Despite the cursory lubing up it’s still painful as Jake jerks his way into Dirk. Dirk wonders if he would have felt any less shame if Jake hadn’t brought it. 

Fuck, he’s so tight. He wills himself to relax, to make this easier. It’s so fitting that Jake would be so thick, but maybe it just feels that way considering the situation. 

Jake pauses to apply more lube, apparently also not pleased with how smooth the entry was going. 

And then the bottle is tossed into the leaves around them and Jake moves one of his hands to hold himself up over the ground as he starts to work himself into the tightness of Dirk’s body. 

He gets one good, slick pump into Dirk, seating himself down to the base. And then he fully claims Dirk, increasing his pace until he’s fucking him mercilessly. 

Dirk moans into his arm pressed against his face as his dick pushes harshly against incredible spots inside him. The shame and pleasure simmer in his abdomen, something practically delicate. 

“Fuck, oh _Dirk_ ,” Jake moans throatily above him. “Better than I could have ever imagined.” _And victory makes it that much sweeter_ , he probably doesn’t say. 

Dirk doesn’t fight against the hand on top of him, he sinks into the haze as it happens. Insects chirp all around them, the only noise besides Jake’s vulgar sounds above. 

It is honestly an incredible angle. Dirk’s breath catches as the heat undeniably builds in that one spot, each rhythmic thrust forcing it deeper. If he’s so _tight_ why doesn’t Jake just come yet, put him out of this hovering misery, escalation… 

The orgasm wracks him as Jake continues to pound into him, laughing through exerted breaths as Dirk tenses. His hands ball into fists that grind into the ground. Wrenched out of him like that, it’s so intensely raw and unlike any he’s ever had before, but somehow even more satisfying. He bites his lip against a singular cry as his body struggles to curl up and away from the unending sensation. 

Jake doesn’t last much longer with the tension of orgasm forced into Dirk. He moves his hands to tightly grip at the the crests of Dirk’s hips, his speed increasing ever so slightly as he tips himself over the edge. It’s almost too much for Dirk, between the riding out aftershocks of orgasm and the continued pressure of that one spot and the wetness spurting inside him as Jake’s pattern finally stutters, coming to a halt. 

Jake pulls out of him and Dirk feels wet along his back. For a moment he hovers over Dirk, dripping and panting. 

And just like that, Jake is up and off of him, crunching leaves as he steps away. 

Dirk groans into his arm once more, in a moment suddenly sore all over. He refuses to look at Jake as he pushes up onto his knees and shrugs his clothes back up. 

Jake is putting himself back together as well, his breathing slowly evening out as he brushes himself off.

Dirk looks up at him, and in the true darkness now he can barely make out Jake’s face. 

Jake hesitantly steps to him and reaches a hand out, which Dirk takes and lets himself to be lifted up onto legs. 

“You… did well,” Jake says, so quietly. “I was a little out of control there, wasn’t I.” It’s a statement, not a question, and for once his voice lacks any jocularity. 

“Uh, just a little bit,” Dirk says dryly. 

“Would it be even more out of line of me to wonder if you’d like to do it again sometime?”

“Man,” Dirk says and laughs despite himself. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Live jammed for the Strilondes Fan Jams server~


End file.
